Evil One, Wander
by SelfDestructIn54321
Summary: Tris's cousins are weird. But when Tris is caught in one of their rooms, she discovers that they're also dangerous. My OCs and their abilities are totally of my creation. Review! Pic: Google Images.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Disclaimed. eerieyredd on Polyvore. I am Cassie, lovelies, it's my real-life name, and I'm making myself an extreme bitch in this, so be warned. And I don't have any accents! SOTD: Blue Stahli/Ultranumb. Title from my friend Bre, who will also be in this story. Review, lovelies!**

1: Pretend It's Home

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. .

"Jesus, it's raining buckets out there!" Exclaims a tall girl—tallest of the trio she'd come in with—with dark brown skin and hair and brown eyes; she looks the softest: the average-height girl with blonde-ish pink-ish hair and pale green eyes looks secretive, like she's hiding something, and the short one, who has dark brown hair and dark green eyes, looks just plain mean.

"No, it's raining ASSHOLES!" The short girl yells, grabbing the door before the taller one can shut it. "ASSHOLES!" Then, she turns, and smiles. Her teeth look very white and very sharp. Yikes, I think. "You must be Mr. Prior!" She says.

Dad smiles. "Yes, of course, and you're the . . . youngest one? J-"

"Oh, no, no," she interupts, and I realize she has a british accent. "Jaime's that one, really, I'm the eldest. Cassie?"

"Oh, Cassie, always my favorite." Dad says.

"I thought I was your favorite!" Exclaims the tall one.

"Well, Christina, with all your shopping-"

"Oh! Right, I'm Natalie's favorite!" Christina reminds herself.

"So, Cassie, you still a bitch?" Asks Dad, and my jaw drops. Before I can say anything, she answers.

"Always." She smiles, and nods to the door. "Your neighbour's an asshole."

"Always is." Dad says. "Beatrice, why don't you show our guests to their rooms."

I hold back sigh, and lead them upstairs.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Cassie gets the Skull room." I say, and she smiles. "Jaime has the Galaxy room. And Chris gets the Luxury room."

After I show them to their's, I retire to my own room—the Arctic Rose room, though it's mostly blues and whites.

It was getting late, so I slung my backpack up to the platform that held my bed, and climbed up the ladder, doing my math homework.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Cassie took her food to her room. Chris talked enthuisastically while shoving her food down her throat, but her face was paler than usual, and there was a forced look in her eyes. At they end, her skin tinged green, and as soon as she was out of sight, I heard her running upstairs. Jaime just poked at her food, not eating a single bite.

I was confused. Our cook—Eric—though scary and tattooed and peirced—everywhere—was an awesome cook. His food was heaven.

So why did they avoid it?

I decide to investigate, and go up to Cassie's room.

"Who is it?!" She yells, when I knock.

"It's me, Tris."

"Come in." She says. When I come in, I see her empty plate on her desk, on top of an algebra textbook.

"Are you already done with your homework?!" I ask, astonished.

"Yeah. What did you want?" I look up from her desk, and see her perched on the edge of her couch. Her eyes are silvery, and her lips look like she just put on another coat of lip gloss; a charcoal-colored knit blanket that she'd brought with her—I know 'cause I decorated the rooms myself—is thrown over a half open brushed-steel rolling suitcase that I'd taken note that all three of my cousins had one of—Chris's had the Eiffel Tower on it, and Jaime's had ridges on it.

"I just came in to take your plate." I smile.

She nods cautiously, like she knows I'm lying. "Sure. Okay. Bye."

I grab her plate and make for the door, propping it open with my foot a minute. A beat before I am about to give up, I hear the click of a lock.

She's gone to the bathroom. I go back inside, not letting the door close; I can't let this go. It takes me a minute to find the steel suitcase. The fabric one with the cute print on it holds only clothes, and the duffel has a lock; I can't find her messenger bag. Her steel suitcase—opened, shoved behind the couch—has piles of letters on it. Beneath that, are water bottles, filled with red liquid-

A grabs my collar, throwing me into the wall by the door. I gasp for air when I hit the wall: she's knocked all the air from my lungs. She slams the door next to my head before I can make a sound, and a beat before I get my air back, she flys at me, one hand around my throat, not squezing, just holding me there, but the other drives three fingers in the space between my stomach and my chest, and I feel a bruise coming on—and I also struggle to breath again.

"_What were you doing in my things?!"_ Cassie hisses. Her eyes are a very silver green. "_What did you see?!"_

"I didn't see anything, I swear!" I gasp, and her eyes sparkle—more.

"If you tell anyone anything, I will do worse than kill you, mundane." She snarls, and steps back. I roll through the door, forgetting her plate.

. . . . . .. . . . . . . .. . . . . . .. . . . . . .. .

"_Remember, only if it's urgent. I can only leave once." He's staring into my eyes in that stern way he does. I nod, staring at his chin. "Tris?" He asks, grabbing my chin and making me look at him. At the sight of his dark blue irises, tears of guilt well up in my eyes. _

"_I'm s-sorry, Tobias—I can't—believe I did that—and now you have to-"_

"_I'll be fine, Tris, stop crying. Stop it. Come on, you know I hate it when you cry."_

"_Please don't leave me!" I sob, burrying my head in his shoulder._

_No feeling could be worse than this goodbye._

. . . . . .. . . . .. … . . . . . . . . . . .. . . .. …...

I wake up gasping, tears running down my face, and make a dive for the cell phone on my nightstand, kicking my legs free of the blanket in panic and almost falling off the platform.

"Hello?" Asks a very tired sounding masculine voice.

"Tobias. . . . " I say, and I can almost see him bolting up, as if he can hear the tears in my voice.

"Tris? What's wrong?"

"It's—it's my cousins, they . . . nothing. Nothing, it's stupid."

"Tris, you can either tell me now, or later when I get to your house. Why the Hell are you crying?"

"I just-" I sobbed, and he sucked in a breath.

"I'm on my way." He says, and I barely have time to blurt out my address before he hangs up.

My angel's on his way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Divergent. SOTD: Evans Blue/Say It. You know my Polyvore, lovelies. And, dauntlexx, yes, yes, you are.**

Ch. 2

It still smells like him, even after seven years, I think, as I button his shirt up over my grey tank and shorts set. I'd stolen it from him before he left.

I sit on my bed and run my hands through my hair, begin to seperate it into sections for a braid. When it's finished, I comb back through it with my fingers.

There's a knock at my window. I hurry over: I'm on the second story. I grab the hand that appears and help him in.

"Hey, Tris." He says, and lets out an "oof" when I throw myself at him.

"Hi, Tobias." I whisper. "I missed you."

"I missed you more." He says into my hair, and I blink away tears.

"I know you did." I say.

"So. Who are your cousins?" He asks, and I pull back. The clock says 5:24, so I decide to just wake up. I go to the mirror and start to put my hair in a ponytail. Tobias comes to look at me in the mirror.

"Well, the eldest—and meanest—is Cassie. She's the one with brown hair and green eyes. The middle one is Christina, who's I guess the nicest. Jaime's the youngest, but she's a total loner; I don't think she's said one word to me since she got here."

"When was that?"

"Yesterday." I sigh, and grab the hair tie off my wrist. "Jaime has blonde—kinda—hair, and Chris has brown hair."

"Okay. Are they up?"

"I don't know. Lemme change." I say, and go to my dresser.

"Get something you can train in." Tobias says, and I spin.

"You're training us?"

"Yes. I'd like to know how dangerous your cousins really are." He says, and I smile lightly.

"'Kay."

.. . . . .

"Why are we up at five a.m.?" Cassie asks. She's no longer wearing her dress, but a black tank with teeth on the top and bottom, and in the middle, "rawr" printed in lowercase. She also wears her combat boots—which I secretly love—and black jeans. Her hair's brushed and down. She wears lip color that's two shades darker and slightly pinker than yesterday's.

"You wake up at four." Christina argues. Her hair's in a messy bun—which is also cute—and wears dark pink lipstick. She's changed into jeans and a New York Shirt. She also wears colorful hightops.

"So that doesn't mean I want to talk to people!" Cassie exclaims.

"Then why did you come here?!" Chris hisses.

"You're such an Amity." Cassie grumbles.

"EXCUSE ME?!" Chris yells.

"You heard me, bitch, let's go-"

"Hey. Shut up." Says Tobias.

"You shut up, asshole!" Cassie shouts.

Tobias walks over to her. "What's your name?" He asks.

"Cassie. Duh." She replies.

"Well, _Cassie,"_ he says, and grabs her arm. "The first lesson you will learn from me will be to keep. Your mouth. _Shut."_

She stares at him a minute, before hitting him. He stumbles back a step or two before stopping short, eyes blazing. "The first lesson you will learn from me," Cassie says. "Is that if you put your hands on me, I will severely damage your face."

I put my hand on his shoulder, and he turns.

"Training." I remind him quietly.

"Oooh." Says Christina. Tobias walks back up to the stage at the front of the room.

"My name is Four." He says. "I'll be your instructor."

"Four? Like the number?" Asks Jaime smart-assically. Her hair's in a side ponytail, low, and she wears a blue tank and blue jeans and her hightop converse. She also has on about sixteen turquoise bracelets and a locket.

"Yes. Exactly like the number." He says. "Is there a problem?"

"No." Chris says.

"Okay. Now, Andrew hired me to train you three-"

"What about Tris?" Asks Chris.

"I've already trained her, but she'll be joining us. Anyway, for stage one-"

"We don't need to be trained." Jaime says.

"We've already been trained." Cassie says.

"Well, you're being trained again." Tobias says, and I can tell that he's getting annoyed. "Anyway. Stage one is primarily physical, stage two primarily emotional, and stage three primarily mental."

"Why?" Cassie asks.

"Because I said so!" Tobias exclaims.

"Why?"

"Fifty push-ups!" Cassie snickers, and bends down to start them. The crow pendant on her necklace tinkles against the ground.

"Ten laps around the room." Tobias commands.

. . . . . . . . . .. . .. . . . .. . . .. . . .. . .. . .. . . . . . . .

Cassie is laughing. I don't know why; I'm panting from running laps around the giant basement. Jaime is lying on the floor breathing deeply, and Christina is dancing to no music for no apparent reason.

Ten laps, and I'm the only one breathless.

What the Hell?

Tobias lets us break for water, and I'm the only one who drinks.

Still odd.

Christina fakes it, but other than her, yeah. I'm the only one.

"Now." Says Tobias. "On to fighting."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_PTCH! Fulloop!_

Exclaims the punching bag, before hitting the floor at Cassie's feet. She's on her ninth bag, Jaime's on her fourth, and Christina's on her third; I'm on my second.

Ugh.

"Okay, guys. You're dismissed." Tobias says. When their footsteps fade, I hold the punching bag close and rest my head on the leather; I feel a hand on my shoulder, but don't look up. "I'm sorry, babe," he whispers in my ear. "You know it was for your cousins creepiness to be comparable."

"Yeah." I say. "Of course." He chuckles, and lets go. I think he's left after a moment, the room cool and silent, but then something hits the backs of my knees, and he catches me, holding me bridal style, and carries me up to his room. Dad gave him his own, but he's been in there only, like, once.

He curls up next to me, and promptly begins to snore; I snort and put my head on his chest. In minutes, I, too, am snoring.

**I know, lovelies. It was short. But it was more of a filler. Review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Holy fuck I feel like shit. Disclaimer: Disclaimed. SOTD: (first half of the story, aka the dinner) Emily Browning/Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This. (second half of the story:) Evanescence/Sweet Sacrifice. You know my Polyvore. **

**Also: Fuck off, Guest! First, you didn't GIVE me a number, fucktard! And second, YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT I LOOK LIKE! You're a fucking crazy fucking internet stalker, and YOU'RE ANNOYING THE CRAP OUT OF ME! LEAVE A NAME IF YOU'RE A GUEST. THERE'S A NAME, I WON'T THINK YOU'RE A CREEP. NO NAME, FUCK YOU. I'VE ONLY READ ONE REVIEW BY A GUEST THAT DIDN'T MAKE ME WANT TO CALL THE COPS. Guest: I'm NOT your angel, and TAKE SOME SPELLING LESSONS, BITCH. **

**FUCK YOU!**

Chapter 3

"Isn't this great?" Asks Marcus. We all mutter yeses, but Cassie looks him in the eye, smiles innocently, and says a straight, comfirmitive, "No," to which he looks at her like she's being a bitch, which she is, but I hate him, too, so I'm one to talk.

Three other governmental figures sit around Dad—at the head of the table. We all had to dress up, which resulted in my current outfit: a black skirt with suspendery thingies that go over each shoulder, a grey sweater with a cat on it, and black boots with foldover tops. I also wear mascara and very light lip gloss. My hair hair is in a side fishtail braid, and my nails are painted.

I feel like shit.

Cassie—who is still smiling—wears a black and gray striped long sleeve and jeans, her boots, and her hair trademark down; she's wearing the lip color I saw her in when she first came, and dark mascara, and her nails are painted black.

She's playing with her food.

Jaime's wearing a pink off-one-shoulder sweater that reads, "I Woke Up Like This," and torn jeans. She wears light mascara and pink lip color.

She's leaning back in her seat, watching the light.

Christina wears a white and black cropped top, black jeans, and black shoes, her hair curled. Her jewelry consists of a jumble of gold bracelets, cross earrings, and a crystal on a chain.

Her eyes are narrowed, and she's picking at her food angrily; she looks like she's been crying.

Tobias is wearing a black shirt with three quarter black sleeves, black jeans with many pockets, and high tops.

He won't look up, no matter how hard I kick him in the shins.

I know Marcus beats him—or beat, I haven't got a chance to ask him yet, and he looks a lot more muscled than the last time I saw him, so I dunno.

There's an empty place at the end of the table, next to Tobias—who is next to Jaime, who is next to Cassie, and Christina is next to me—that I know is for my mother, who said she'd be back this morning.

Aren't we a happy bunch.

. . . **THIS IS WHEN YOU SWITCH SONGS**. . .

Tobias kicks me in the leg. I look up, but not at him; Dad is staring at me. Jaime taps my foot with her heel, and starts drumming on her temple with one hand.

"Um-" I start, but the window explodes.

Chris gasps lightly; Tobias jumps to his feet; Cassie smiles wickedly; Jaime pushes away her plate, and spins to meet the threat.

I duck down in my chair until I hit the ground.

**(OH MY GOD I MADE THIS UP)**

Little things—a sickly sort of pinkish red, about a foot tall each, with eyes like black tunnels and giant nostrils where their noses ought to be, whose bodies looked like Taz from Looney Tunes—were crawling under the table at me.

My mind slows down. I see the—things—scuttling toward me. Cassie's legs swing around, and she stands. It all happens in slow motion.

Dark red coats the edges of my vision. Without thinking, one hand reaches up and grabs a butter knife. Again, not thinking, I drive the knife into one of the creatures. It lets out a screech, and black blood climbs up the knife to touch my fingers; I shriek, and slam bck into my chair.

A hand—human—grabs my hand, and jerks me onto the table. My feet crash into plates, I reciognize Tobias.

My foot shocks out and kicks away the chairs, so the demons can't climb up to us. Cassie, Jaime and Christina are killing the demons on the floor; Cassie violently, Jaime fluidly, and Christina smoothly.

Food, glass and demons litter the floor. Nobody is in their chairs. I stand on my tiptoes to see over the table. No Dad on that side, or that side, or that side, or. . . .

I let out a shreik, and dive for the other side of table; Tobias catches my around the waist.

"No!" I scream. "NO!" The house shakes, my eyes filling with tears.

_My dad is dead_

_My dad is dead_

_My dad is dead_

_My dad is dead_

My vision pauses, flickers, then disappears altogether.

"Tris!" Tobias shouts, but I'm already gone.


End file.
